


The Milestone Series: Year Two

by Aggie2011



Series: Vantage Point Universe [11]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, No Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aggie2011/pseuds/Aggie2011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil and Clint celebrate Clint's second anniversary of joining SHIELD. But things get off to a rocky start when Clint finds out the whole truth about what Phil did for him last year. One-shot! *Vantage Point Universe*NO-SLASH*Pre-Avengers*</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Milestone Series: Year Two

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.
> 
> And we're back! With the next installment in the Milestones Series! If you haven't read "Year One" you might want to so the first half of this fic makes sense. It's a one shot though, so it won't take too long :) Year Two year we come! This one has a little bit of angsty so be ready!
> 
> This is the second in a series of one-shots in my "Vantage Point Universe", which is an Avengers universe centered around the character Clint Barton.
> 
> *Note for the list Clint gives Phil at the end: BOLD CAPS is Clint's original writing, italics is Clint's later additions that he added before giving the list to Coulson. I know none of that makes sense now, but it will later, promise lol :D

_We think in generalities, but we live in detail._

**_Alfred North Whitehead_ **

* * *

_July 12, 2005- 2:47am_

* * *

Clint loved the internet. I mean, seriously, the amount of useless information he could access at the touch of a mouse was just awesome. It also made his current project not only possible, but incredibly easy and vastly entertaining.

A little too entertaining because it was almost three in the morning. Thankfully, since Clint was pulled from general training six months ago, his morning training time with Coulson had been pushed back to 6am instead of 4am. Of course, even that later training time was still a little closer than a healthy sleep pattern would require. But Clint was just enjoying this way too much. And his sleep pattern had never really been healthy to begin with so he wasn't that concerned.

Epic events of July for every year Phil Coulson had been alive.

It had originally been specific to July 12, the day he and Coulson met in that alley in Vienna, but not a lot of shit happened on July 12 throughout the years.

July itself was a different story.

Some  _fascinating_  shit happened in July. And Clint was having a great time discovering all that fascinating shit. His idea was  _also_  genius because it was a running joke with him and Coulson that Phil was getting old. A year by year listing of  _how_ old Phil was made Clint laugh even know.

Clint reached his hand into his open bag of Doritos, tossing a chip into his mouth as he clicked random links, trying to find something cool to add to his list for last year. He'd already found something for every year up to that.

He distractedly clicked another link while looking at his iPod and changing tracks. His  _new_  iPod that had been an unexpected but  _awesome_  birthday present from Phil two and a half months ago. It was his new favorite electronic. Really his only favorite electronic because the only other thing he had was his laptop.

Though, he mused, his quiver was technically electronic. He really considered it a weapon though, not an 'electronic'. Clint hummed thoughtfully as he narrowed his eyes at his quiver where it was laying across the top of his dresser. He distractedly took a bite out of another chip, clicked another link, and rolled to stretch and snag his Gatorade from the nightstand. He took a sip and recapped, it tossing it on the bed next to him. He refocused on his search, frowning in confusion when he realized what page he was on.

 _How_  had he gotten on an obituaries page for July of 2004 for Des Moines, Iowa of all places? Absolutely certain no one important enough to make the list had died in Des Moines, Iowa in July of 2004, Clint moved his cursor towards the back button.

The name really caught his eye by accident, just as he pressed the button.

Phillip Jacobs

He stared at his loading screen for a moment, blinking dumbly before pressing the forward button and waiting for the page to reload. He stared at the name when it reappeared in front of him, his heart rate increasing without his permission. Phillip Jacobs. It couldn't be the Phillip Jacobs he was thinking of because it just  _couldn't_  be.

He wasn't sure when he decided to search 'Phillip Jacobs, death, Des Moines, Iowa', but he did and suddenly he was reading about how Phillip Jacobs, former proprietor of Waverly Home for Boys, had been murdered in an alley on July 21st, 2004. He'd been found beaten and shot twice in the head. His wallet and valuables had been taken so investigators decided it was a mugging gone wrong but no suspects were ever arrested.

Unbidden, a flash of Phil's hands, bruised and scraped, ran through his mind. Phil's hands that had been fine when Clint saw him on the afternoon of July 21st last year and had been bruised and scraped on the morning of July 22nd.

Phil, who he'd revealed to for the first time on July 12th the reason Clint slept in air vents. That reason being none other than a habit born of years of sleeping in barn rafters to escape Phillip Jacobs. Phillip Jacobs who had been killed nine days later.

Clint closed his laptop and stared pensively across the expanse of his room at his door. It was a coincidence. It had to be. Phil wouldn't have done that. He wouldn't have killed a man in cold blood for sins committed years ago. Phil wouldn't have killed someone who by all rights was  _Clint's_  to kill and no one else's.

Clint shoved his laptop to the other side of the bed and flipped off his light, ignoring the quiet part of his mind that was whispering contrary thoughts. Whispering that Phil would do anything to protect him, even kill in cold blood. Whispering that Phil cared about him enough to kill the bastard just because he'd hurt Clint once upon a time.

Whispering that maybe Phil did it so Clint didn't have to.

* * *

_Clint's eyes snapped open when he heard the creak in the floorboard. The floorboard that was exactly six boards away from his bed. He forced himself to keep breathing evenly, tuning his ears and hearing the quiet steps as they drew nearer to his little bed._

_3 boards away._

_Clint bit his lip and wished with everything his little seven year old body had that Barney would wake up right now. Barney was sleeping on the bunk above him. Barney would protect him. There was another creak, the board right next to his bed and then his mattress dipped as a weight settled on it next to the small of Clint's back._

_Clint clenched his eyes closed and hope soared in him when he heard Barney shift above him. Heard his breathing change and knew his older brother was awake. The weight on his mattress didn't lift. Barney stopped moving, but his breathing didn't settle again. He was still awake._

_Clint flinched when there was suddenly a rough hand on his arm, brushing over the dark angry finger shaped bruise that wrapped around the skin of his elbow._

" _Shhh, Clint, it's just me," Phillip Jacob's voice made everything inside Clint cringe._

_Clint's eyes opened again and he clenched his jaw when he felt the hand slide over his cheek. Every muscle in his little body tensed when the rough fingers rubbed across the puffy bruised skin beneath his right eye._

_His breathing picked up when the hand slid down the front of his old Captain America t-shirt. He heard Barney shift again and waited. But Barney didn't say anything. Didn't move again. Started holding his breath._

_Clint felt the hand shift lower and something in him snapped. Not again. He'd cried last time, silent tears that no one but Barney knew about. Barney had told him only babies cried.  
_

_But he wouldn't cry this time. He wasn't a baby, he wasn't weak. He didn't care what Barney said._

_He wouldn't be weak anymore._

_He lashed out, snapping his small, bruised elbow into the man's jaw. Jacobs cried out and fell back. Clint was already moving, rolling backwards off the bed and sprinting for the door. He fell hard when a rough hand grabbed his bare ankle. He rolled onto his back, ignoring his now bleeding forehead, and stared with wide blue grey eyes at Jacobs, who was sprawled out across the floor, arm stretched out in front of him. He pulled himself forward, closer to Clint._

_Clint drew back his free foot and slammed it into Jacob's nose._

_His ankle was freed and he crab crawled backwards, flinching when his back hit the door. Others in the room were awake now, watching with wide eyes, all too afraid or too shocked to do anything to help him. Clint wasn't surprised. None have them had ever helped him before._

_Clint raised his eyes instinctively to Barney, who was watching from his bed, eyes awake and aware. Barney didn't move, just watched Clint with his dark eyes and didn't move._

_Clint stood and ripped the door open, nearly falling down the stairs in his haste. He didn't realize he was crying until his the tears blurred his vision so much that he tripped off the last stair of the front porch and went sprawling onto the ground. Gravel tore into the soft skin of his hands, dug into his chest through his thin t-shirt._

_He heard Jacobs raging and crashing down the stairs. He wiped away the tears, pushed himself up, and ran for the barn. He'd been eyeing the high rafters of the barn for a while now, trying to find time where he could climb up there without getting noticed._

_Now it was the only place he thought he might be safe._

* * *

Clint jackknifed and swung his combat knife in a wide arc.

"What the hell," he gasped when he got a firmer grip on reality and realized it had been a dream. His chest was heaving with panicked breathes and his eyes burned with tears that would never fall. He felt for a moment like that terrified seven year old all over again.

He hadn't dreamed of Phillip Jacobs in  _years_. Brit had helped him come to terms with what Phillip Jacobs had done. He'd helped him stop being afraid of a man that could no longer hurt him and the dreams had stopped less than a year after joining Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders.

He had almost forgotten what it had felt like that night. The desperation, the fear, the realization that no one was going to protect him, the discovery that he had the strength to protect himself.

But now he remembered. He remembered it all and it left him shaken.

Slowly, Clint climbed out of bed, dragging his pillow and his blanket with him, and moved towards the other side of the room. He pulled the chair from his small desk over and stood on it. He carefully pulled away the air vent cover and pushed his pillow and blanket in. Then he crawled in after them and pulled the vent cover back into place.

* * *

Coulson wasn't surprised that Clint was already waiting at the track when he got there at 6am. Clint had been a bundle of barely contained energy yesterday as he taunted Phil with the promise of an  _epic_  present that was sure to make Phil feel his age.

Phil hadn't been exactly sure what that meant and he was fairly certain he wasn't going to really appreciate it, but he couldn't help his own excitement as he wondered what Clint had come up with.

"So, because today is a special day," Phil started as he drew closer but then he frowned, not going on when he saw the expression Clint was wearing. It wasn't one he'd ever seen before.

Clint face, as always was carefully blank, giving nothing away, but his eyes were a different story. Coulson slowed to a stop and frowned. There was anger in those eyes. But there was more than that. There was fear and vulnerability, pain and sadness, and of course Clint's ever present strength. It was an odd mix and a worrying one.

"What's wrong?" Phil asked carefully. He was confused when Clint's eyes suddenly shuttered, hiding every emotion and presenting Phil with nothing but a blank mirror. Clint hadn't shut him out so completely since they first met. Something was wrong, very wrong.

"I was surfing the internet last night, and I stumbled across something truly fascinating," Clint stated quietly.

"What was that?" Phil asked.

"An obituary, for a man named Phillip Jacobs, who, interestingly enough, was found murdered nine days after I told you the truth about him.  _Fascinating_  isn't it? A hell of a coincidence."

"Why don't you just ask me what you want to ask me, Clint," Phil entreated quietly.

"Did you kill him, Phil?"

And there it was. Point blank. Phil met his agent's eyes squarely.

"Yes."

* * *

_July 21, 2004_

* * *

Phillip Jacobs stumbled out of the bar with a belch. He patted down his pockets, searching for his keys only to remember that the bartender had snatched them when he wasn't looking. Jacobs didn't know why that memory brought a bout of uncontrollable giggling, but it did. He stumbled down the street, still giggling.

He didn't notice the shadowed figure in the alley until it was grabbing him and pulling him sharply into the darkness. Nothing will sober you up like a gun to your head.

"Just take my wallet. I don't want any trouble," Jacobs stated, his words still slurred slightly.

The attacker cocked his head to the side.

"You don't want any trouble?" he asked in a fascinated tone. "It's funny how trouble never seems to care if people want it or not."

"What do you want?" Jacobs demanded, his tone trembling slightly because the gun against his jaw never wavered.

"You're Phillip Jacobs?"

"Y-yeah."

"Former proprietor of Waverly Home for Boys?"

Jacobs frowned.

"Yeah."

"I want to ask you a question."

"O-okay, go for it."

"I want to know if you remember a little boy. Came to you in early '92, blonde hair, blue grey eyes, small for his age…oh, and he loved to climb things and sleep in barn rafters."

He saw recognition light Jacobs' eyes.

"Ring a bell?" the attacker asked coldly.

"Maybe."

"Let me clarify, he was six years old, had just lost both his parents to a car accident and  _you_  passed the days beating the shit out of him and the other kids. Stop me if I'm wrong."

Jacobs glared at him. The shadowed man went on.

"But this kid, this little six year old, he turned seven somewhere along the way. And somewhere along that same way he became  _special,_ didn't he? He caught your attention. How long was he there before you molested the kid in his bed?"

"I don't know what you're talking-"

The butt of the gun cracked into Jacob's jaw.

"You  _do_ know, because why the hell else would a seven year old sleep in the rafters of a barn for three years just so he could feel safe?"

Jacobs swallowed thickly, his gaze darkening.

"You're here about Barton. The younger one, what was his name?" Jacobs made a show of thinking it over, " _Clint,_ that's what it was. That little fucker was a live wire, but he was somethin' to look at. It was the eyes, never seen eyes like that. But damn it if that little bastard didn't break my nose once."

Jacobs fell when the gun hit his jaw again. The attacker stood over him, shaking with anger.

"I asked you how long he was there before you started."

"I made it a birthday present for the little shit. Happy fucking seventh birthday."

This time it was a fist that met Jacobs' jaw.

"Who the hell are you, man?" Jacobs demanded, "He started sleeping in the rafters a couple weeks later and it never happened again. Then the kid and his brother ran away and I never saw them again. So what the hell does it matter?"

"Who am I? I'm Phil Coulson. What does it matter? It matters a whole  _hell_  of a lot, because Clint Barton  _matters_  to me."

Phil holstered his gun and cracked his knuckles.

"And I'm going to show you what it feels like to be afraid of someone stronger than you."

Phil lunged forward and cracked a fist into Jacobs' temple. Then he hauled the man up by his jacket and slammed his fist into his beer bloated abdomen. And then Jacobs' laughed. Laughed like this whole thing was funny. Like Clint didn't matter.

"Who the hell is he to you? Your fuck buddy?"

Phil slammed a palm into the man's sternum, sending him crashing back against the brick wall of the alley.

"He's my brother."

Phil saw the confusion in Jacobs' eyes. Saw him look Phil up and down and confirm that, no, Phil wasn't Barney Barton. Phil didn't care if he was confused.

"You never should have laid a hand on him," Phil growled, pursuing Jacobs as he crab crawled backwards towards the back end of the alley.

"Fucker was a little smart ass. He had it coming."

And Phil lost it.

When he stepped back several minutes later he was shaking. Jacobs wasn't moving, was barely breathing. Phil pulled his side arm and twisted on his silencer, stepping up to stand over Jacobs' head.

This was him. This was the man that had left permanent marks on Clint's back. This was the man that had violated him and driven him to the rafters and started the habit that Clint still battled today. This was the man that put a defensive, vulnerable hunch in Clint's usually proud and confident shoulders. This was the man that had seen a little six year old boy who had just become an orphan and taken the first shot in a long line of shots that would eventually break that little boy down and bring him years later to stand in an alley in Vienna with a bullet in his shoulder and no hope in his eyes.

Phil realized he was looking at the true beginning.

Clint's parents dying had been tragic, but kids could recover from tragic.

Clint hadn't really ever recovered from Phillip Jacobs.

He'd dealt with what happened. Hadn't let it haunt him. But he'd still slept in air ducts years and years later. He still didn't like to talk about it. He still hunched his shoulder like he expected to get hit when he did.

Phil didn't have to think about it anymore. He pulled the trigger twice and walked out of the alley without a backwards glance.

* * *

_July 12, 2005- Present Day_

* * *

Clint blinked at him, caught off guard by the blunt confession.

"Yes?" he repeated blankly.

"Yes, Clint. I killed him."

Clint looked suddenly livid.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Clint growled at him, his voice taking on a tone Phil had never had directed at him before. Clint was soft spoken by nature, rarely raised his voice even when he was livid with anger. He didn't raise it now, but his tone took on a dark quality and that was worse than if Clint had yelled at him. Clint could more effectively intimidate with a softly spoken threat than with the most raging of yells. Phil had seen him do it.

"Excuse me?" Phil frowned. "That's a hell of a thing for you to ask me after everything we've been through."

"What the hell do you think gives you the right to kill him? To butt into  _my_  business!"

"The right? I'll tell you what gives me the right, Clint. That son of a bitch hurt you. That's all the right I need," Phil shot back in a firm tone. He wouldn't apologize for what he'd done, not when he would do it again in a heartbeat.

"All the right you need? You had  _no_ right to go after Jacobs!" Clint argued. "Jacobs was  _my_  problem from  _my_ past! You didn't have any part of it!"

"I have a damn huge part of it!" Phil retorted. "I became part of it two god damned years ago when you became part of my life and an even bigger part of it last year when you told me what he did to you."

"You have  _no_ idea what he did to me," Clint denied fiercely.

"Oh no? You think I'm an idiot, Clint? You think I didn't read between the lines? You  _slept_  in the rafters so you'd feel safe at night. So unless Jacobs had a tendency to host late night beatings where you were the only target, I know  _exactly_  what he did to you."

Clint stepped back, his expression looking as shocked as it would if Phil had struck him. Phil hated himself for causing the shame that clouded Clint's eyes in the next moment.

"Don't do that," he ordered firmly. "Don't you dare feel ashamed. What that bastard did was on him, not you. Understood?"

Clint's shame was quickly being replaced by renewed anger.

"You were never supposed to know about that, nobody was. Who the hell do you think you are digging around where you don't belong?" Clint accused, shoving Coulson hard in the chest when the man tried to approach him, his hand outstretched in his normal soothing manner. Clint wasn't in the mood to be soothed.

To Coulson's credit, he took the shove with a single stumbling step and then approached again.

"Who the hell am I? I'm the only family you've got left, Clint. And when you told me the truth last year, I decided it was time someone stood up for  _you_  for a change. You don't always have to be the strong one, Clint."

"Yes I do!" Clint argued. "Don't you get it? I  _had_ to be strong because no one else was going to be strong for me. The day I turned seven was the first time Jacobs did it and two weeks later, I broke the bastard's nose and climbed into the rafters for the first time. I learned really fast that no one, not even Barney, was going to protect me from that. So I protected myself. And I promised myself that night that I would never be weak again."

"You were never weak, Clint. You were just a little kid," Phil pointed out quietly, noticing for the first time that Clint was shaking.

"I was never a little kid, Phil." Clint shook his head, his tone finally loosing the edge it had carried for most of the conversation.

"I know," Phil acknowledged. "I was trying to protect you, Clint. I will always try and protect you, no matter what it takes."

Clint's shoulders sagged.

"I know," he sighed, wondering suddenly why he'd gotten so angry in the first place. Would he ever have gone to find Jacobs? Probably not. It wasn't that Phil had stolen the kill from him. Maybe it was just that another person was dead because of him. Even if the bastard did deserve it. Maybe it was that Phil had found out about something Clint had only ever told one other person about, Brit, all those years ago. Maybe it was because Phil had killed a man in cold blood. Good, honest Phil had committed murder. For him.

That was the real rub of it, Clint decided. Because he wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth Phil getting that blood on his hands.

"You shouldn't have done it," he whispered quietly, shaking his head.

"Clint, there was nothing else I could have done once I knew the truth."

Clint shook his head again.

"It wasn't worth you becoming a murderer."

"Wasn't worth it?" Phil repeated with a doubtful frown. "First of all, it's not like I've never killed a man. I've dropped men for less reason on missions.  _Second_  of all, it was  _damn_  worth it. Because  _you_  are damn worth it." Clint's eyes lowered to the ground. "Look at me, Clint," Phil demanded.

He waited patiently for the several seconds it took for Clint to raise his eyes.

"You are worth it to me. You will always be worth it to me. Because two years ago today, you looked at me across an alley in Vienna and you had no hope in your eyes, and you chose to try and be better. You're the one that took the risk that night, not me. I always knew you would be worth it. You're the one that had to make the choice and not a day goes by that I'm not grateful you made the one you did.

"I've always thought you were worth whatever it took, even from the very beginning, and you have only become more worth it ever since. And if killing Phillip Jacobs every Tuesday for the rest of eternity could erase what he did to you and those other kids, I would do it in a second. But it wouldn't so instead I gave the bastard what he deserved and hoped that would be enough."

"Enough for what?" Clint asked quietly.

"Enough to pay him back for what he did. For what he kept doing even after you started sleeping in the rafters. He still hurt you, for the next three years, he still hurt you. So I killed the guy with more prejudice than I've ever possessed and I'm glad that I did."

Clint shook his head, this time in awe.

"Why the hell does it mean so much to you?"

"Because, Clint, you are the only family I have. Whatever I am to you, to me, you're my brother. That's how I see you most of the time. That's how I feel about you. And brothers protect each other."

He saw something flash across Clint's expression and a startling truth occurred to him.

"Barney knew, didn't he? About what Jacobs was doing at night."

"For a long time I convinced myself that he didn't. Because if he did, he would have protected me. But he didn't protect me. He knew and he never did a damn thing. So I found a way to be strong and protect myself because it was damn clear that nobody was going to do it for me."

"Well that's changed now."

"Yeah, I'm getting that," Clint finally smiled and it had Coulson smiling in return. "I'm sorry I flipped out on you."

"You were understandably upset. I should have been honest with you from the beginning."

Clint shrugged one shoulder, unwilling to condemn the choices of the only person who had ever  _really_  defended him. Brit had been an older brother to him when he'd needed it and Barney wasn't to be bothered, but Brit had never and could never have done something like what Coulson had done. They'd had a different kind of brotherhood, he and Brit. It had been strong and real and something Clint had counted on for those five years he was at Carson's. But in the end it hadn't been enough to make him stay. And that was the real difference between what he'd had with Brit and what he had with Phil.

He could never dream of walking away from Phil like he'd walked away from Brit.

Coulson gripped his shoulder affectionately, unaware of his charge's musings.

"Now come on, as I was saying, today is a special day. We're taking the day off. We're going to forgot about Phillip Jacobs, forget about Barney, and forget about SHIELD. We're going to Coney Island and pretending to be normal people."

"Normal?" Clint scoffed with a grin. "What's that?"

* * *

"This is  _not_  normal," Coulson scolded under his breath as Clint continued to fire the small rifle at the shooting range with expert precision. A small crowd had gathered to watch, a group of gaping nine year old boys at the front.

"You want me to take a dive?" Clint frowned as he finished the round to a chorus of cheers.

"You're attracting attention."

"Fine."

Clint handed the rifle over to the man running the shooting range and stepped back. He wasn't particularly fond of being the center of attention anyway. He and Coulson moved away from the shooting range and a glance over his shoulder told Clint that the crowd was dispersing quickly. He grabbed Coulson's arm and steered him to their left.

"We're going back to the shooting range aren't we?" Coulson sighed.

"Bet your ass."

Two hours and several different games later Clint had accumulated enough tickets to buy whatever he wanted from the prize shop. Coulson had called him a cheater several times because the average arcade go-er couldn't get a perfect high score on skee-ball  _every_  time he played. He'd dutifully ignored Clint's dryly sarcastic look when Phil topped his own high score three times on 'The Boxer'.

* * *

"Really?" Coulson rolled his eyes as Clint accepted his chosen prize from the prize shop attendant. "What the hell are you going to do with a gigantic stuffed monkey?"

Clint just smirked, put the giant monkey on his back like it was riding piggy back and headed away from the prize counter. Coulson rolled his eyes once again and followed.

* * *

"Does that thing really need to sit next to you like it's a real person?" Phil asked as he took a bite of his funnel cake and watched Clint do the same. He shook his head in amusement when Clint accidentally flicked powdered sugar onto the front of his shirt. The archer didn't seem to particularly care, though, and just kept on eating. "You do realize it's an inanimate object, right?"

"Don't listen to him Baxter," Clint spoke to the stuffed animal out of the corner of his mouth.

" _Why_ did you pick that out of all the prizes?"

Clint smiled and took another bite from his funnel cake.

* * *

"This is the best pizza in the city," Clint insisted, leading Phil into the small corner diner and placing his gigantic stuffed monkey into the nearest chair. "Just trust me."

Phil wasn't sure why Clint was trying to convince him, he hadn't challenged the claim. He let Clint do the ordering and sat down across from the monkey. He spent the next several minutes trying to figure out how the hell they were going to sneak it into SHIELD.

"So, ready for your epic gift?" Clint asked as he dropped down in the seat next to the monkey.

"Hit me," Coulson grinned. He arched an eyebrow when Clint pulled a piece of paper from his pocket unfolded it and slid it across the table. Phil picked it up and read it carefully. Most of it was written in Clint's precise all-caps handwriting, but there were many additions that appeared to have been added later and were more scrawling, less neat.

* * *

THE EPIC EVENTS OF JULY IN THE LIFE OF PHIL COULSON

1974: JULY 17: JOHN LENNON IS ORDERED TO LEAVE US IN 60 DAYS

_Odd considering how much we wanted him here in the first place_

1975: JULY 1: MUHAMMAD ALI BEATS JOE BUGNER IN 15 FOR HEAVYWEIGHT BOXING TITLE

_I don't know much about boxing, but even I know about Muhammad Ali…float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!_

1976: JULY 20: HANK AARON HITS 755th & LAST HOME RUN OFF ANGELS DICK DRAGO

_Baseball…I love baseball. Have I ever told you that?_

1977: JULY 27: JOHN LENNON IS GRANTED A GREEN CARD FOR PERMENANT RESIDENCE IN US

' _77 should have checked with '74 because I feel like they're sending Lennon mixed signals…_

1978: JULY 21: WORLD'S STRONGEST DOG, 80-kg ST BERNARD, PULLS 2909-kg LOAD 27 m

_Who strives to have the world's strongest dog? Who even cares?_

1979: JULY 12: "DISCO DEMOLITION NIGHT" AT COMISKEY PARK, CAUSES FANS TO GO WILD

_Yeah…that should tell you all you need to know about Disco_

1980: JULY 9: WALT DISNEY'S "FOX & THE HOUND," RELEASED

_I watched this movie with my mom all the time. She loved Disney movies._

1981: JULY 29: PRINCE CHARLES OF ENGLAND WEDS LADY DIANA SPENCER

_We all know how THAT turned out…sorry Di_

1982: JULY 2: LARRY WALTERS USING A LAWN CHAIR & 42 HELIUM BALLOONS, ROSE TO 16,000 FEET

_I so want to do that. Add it to my bucket list. If I don't have a bucket list, create a bucket list._

1983: JULY 27: 104°F (40.3°C) IN GARMERSDORF (GERMAN RECORD)

_Obviously Germany has never been to Texas in July because THAT'S what real heat is._

1984: JULY 13: EDDIE VAN HALEN JOINS IN, IN A JACKSONS CONCERT

_Yeah, I chose this just because it mentioned Van Halen_

1985: JULY 25: CLINT BARTON IS EXACTLY 3 MONTHS OLD

_And so begins my future awesomeness…_

1986: JULY 28: NASA RELEASES TRANSCRIPT FROM DOOMED CHALLENGER, PILOT MICHAEL SMITH COULD BE HEARD SAYING, "UH-OH!" AS SPACECRAFT DISINIGRATED

_Uh-oh is right…a little more reserved than I would have been…I would have gone with 'Holy Fuck_ _ing Shit!'_

1987: JULY 7: YANKS TRAIL BY 7 SCORE 7 IN 7th ON 7/7

_Just wow...I mean there's epic and then there's EPIC. You can't plan shit like that_ _._

1988: JULY 13: STING PERFORMS HIS 1ST RAIN FOREST BENEFIT CONCERT

_Sting…careful…every breath you take, every move you make, he'll be watching you…_

1989: JULY 21: MIKE TYSON KOs CARL WILLIAMS IN 1:33 FOR HEAVYWEIGHT BOXING TITLE

_1:33? Psh…I could have done it in 1:30 flat_

1990: JULY 4: WRESTLER BRUTUS BEEFCAKE INJURED DURING PARA-SAILING

_Literally chosen because the guy's name is Brutus Beefcake_

1991: JULY 19: CAL RIPKEN PLAYS IN HIS 1,500th CONSECUTIVE GAME

_Baseball…freaking Cal Ripken...enough said_

1992: JULY 2: BRANIFF AIRLINES GOES OUT OF BUSINESS

_Yeah they went out of business because who the hell has ever heard of Braniff Airlines!_

1993: JULY 1: 1 SECOND IS ADDED TO THE CLOCK

_How can they add it if it always existed? Did seconds just not exist before that day?_

1994: JULY 3: THE DEADLIEST DAY IN TEXAS TRAFFIC HISTORY, ACCORDING TO THE TEXAS DEPARTMENT OF PUBLIC SAFETY. FORTY SIX PEOPLE WERE KILLED IN CRASHES.

_That's because all they know how to drive in Texas are horses!_

1995: JULY 27: IN WASHINGTON, DC, THE KOREAN WAR VETERANS MEMORIAL IS DEDICATED

_*Salutes*_

1996: JULY 12: MICHAEL JORDAN SIGNS A NBA CONTRACT FOR 1 YEAR FOR $25 MILLION

_MJ! Not as awesome as baseball, but hey a guy can't do everything…oh wait_

1997: JULY 9: MIKE TYSON IS BANNED FROM BOXING FOR BITING HOLYFIELD'S EAR

_Holy shit he bit a guy's ear!_

1998: JULY 21: ALAN SHEPARD DIES

_The dude went to outer space. He was kind of epic._

1999: JULY 25: LANCE ARMSTRONG WON HIS FIRST TOUR DE FRANCE

_I wonder how numb his butt is by the end of one of those..._ _  
_

2000: JULY 16: LONGEST TOTAL LUNAR ECLIPSE SINCE 1859

_I watched that_

2001: JULY 2: WORLD'S FIRST SELF CONTAINED ARTIFICIAL HEART IMPLANTED IN ROBERT TOOLS

_They obviously haven't met SHIELD's doctors now have they..._

2002: JULY 14: FRENCH PRESIDENT JACQUES CHIRAC MISSES A WOULD-BE ASSASSIN'S BULLET DURING BASTILLE DAY CELEBRATIONS

_I was NOT the would-be assassin, the chuckle head that screwed it up got to the contract before I did_

2003:  _July 12_ :  _Phil Coulson meets the most awesome person ever in the world and changes his life_

2004:  _July 12_ :  _Phil Coulson helped that same awesome person remember they didn't have to be afraid anymore_

2005:  _July_   _12_ :  _Phil Coulson reminded Clint Barton that family will do anything for family and brothers will always protect each other, no matter what_

* * *

Coulson swallowed past the sudden thickness in his throat, raising his eyes to regard Clint, who was looking uncharacteristically self-conscious.

"This is awesome, Clint. I love it."

"Notice how many years there were?  _A lot,"_ Clint smirked, but his eyes were still sincere.

"Yes thank you, I had noticed."

"I mean  _a lot_ , Phil. It took forever to research all of those years."

"You may be exaggerating a bit..."

"No," Clint shook his head, biting into his pizza. "I'm a pretty good judge of time and I'm fairly certain it took  _forever,"_ he continued around a mouthful of pizza.

"Yes, because I'm..."

"Old," Clint finished with a cheeky grin.

Phil shook his head, rolled his eyes, and bit into his own pizza. He chewed thoughtfully.

"You're right. This is the best pizza I've ever had."

Clint's grin spread into a wide smile.

* * *

"Where are we going?"

"Do I really need to tell  _you_  that patience is a virtue?" Clint arched an eyebrow over his shoulder, peeking around the stuffed monkey to regard Coulson where he walked a step behind him.

"You went all cryptic after we finished the pizza. My curiosity is peaked."

"Would you relax?" Clint rolled his eyes. "We're here."

Coulson looked up at the building in front of him. An old inscription was carved above the doorway.

_14th Avenue Home for Children_

Phil wasn't sure what he'd expected, but this wasn't it. He watched, dumbfounded, as Clint knocked heavily on the door. A few moments later it pulled open and a warm looking woman in her late 50s appeared.

"Jack!" she cooed. "I wasn't expecting you to drop by today!"

"I was in the city and thought I'd stop by. Anybody got a birthday coming up?" Clint asked as he was ushered inside, Phil followed, still struck silent.

"Aiden is turning six tomorrow as a matter of fact," the woman smiled. She spied the monkey on Clint's back. "Oh, Jack, you shouldn't have."

"Trust me, it was an easy acquisition," Clint replied as he swung the monkey off his back. "Where is he?"

"In the living room with the others, go on in, they'll be thrilled to see you."

Clint immediately bounded down the hallway, leaving Phil staring after him blankly.

"I'm Edith Erickson, you must be Paul," Edith held out her hand to Phil and he shook it. He was surprised by her firm grip.

"Yes, I'm Paul," Phil played along with a smile.

"Jack talks about you like you hung the moon."

Phil couldn't help but smile wider.

"How do you know Jack?" Phil asked curiously, following Edith down the hall. He arched an eyebrow when he heard high pitched laughter and a very purposefully off tune version of 'Happy Birthday'.

"He showed up one day with a wad of cash and a firm instruction to take care of these kids. That was a year and a half ago. He turns up every now and then, dropping off a 'donation' as he calls it. He brings toys for the kids sometimes too."

Phil didn't know what to say. They came to the entry to the living room and he spied Clint in the middle of play wrestling with a group of 6 to 10 year old boys. He had all five of them pinned in varying ways and they were all laughing hysterically. Phil felt a soft smile curve his lips. Clint would make a great dad one day if that turned out to be in his cards.

A slight little boy was sitting in the large monkey's lap, its arms wrapped around him. Coulson didn't know if he'd ever seen a smile that wide.

"That's a good boy there,  _Paul_ ," Edith gave Phil a look that told him she knew far more than she let on. "I hope he's being taken care of like he deserves."

"I'm doing my best," Phil promised sincerely.

"You're not his brother, are you?" Edith asked quietly.

"Not by blood, no," Phil admitted. Edith nodded like she expected as much. "But blood doesn't matter much to me."

That brought a smile to the woman's face.

"I'm glad, because I've been a mother to motherless children for decades now and I know the look of a kid that grew up with no one. I'm glad Jack has someone now."

Phil nodded. He was glad too. He was glad he was that someone. He looked to Clint when he suddenly announced that he had to go. Phil wasn't surprised by the chorus of complaints that rose. Clint bid his goodbyes, never once promising to be back, and headed towards them. Phil knew that was a promise Clint couldn't make.

"Thanks for letting me drop in, Ms. Edith." Clint smiled at her warmly.

"Anytime, sweetie," she patted his arm gently. Phil could tell she knew of Clint's strict personal boundaries and respected them.

And then she walked them to the door, bid them a fond farewell, and Coulson was following Clint down the street, once again, struck silent.

Clint slowed his gait, waited for Phil to fall into step next to him, and then spoke.

"I found them after we got back from the Andes. I had a lot of free time while I was recovering."

"I don't understand," Phil admitted, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets.

Clint did the same and looked up at the twilight sky.

"I want those kids to have a good life. Edith has the heart to give it to them. I just make sure she has the means."

"At the risk of sounding like an ass...why?"

"I don't know." Clint shook his head. "I just found myself in front of her door one day with a wad of cash in my hand." He shrugged. "I know what it is to be one of those kids and it helps to know that I'm making it better for them than it was for me."

Phil nodded in understanding. He had known Clint for two years now, and had never once ever known about this little habit of his. How much did Clint still keep hidden away from him? How many more secrets did Clint have that he would hopefully one day reveal?

Coulson didn't know. But he  _did_  know that Clint had given him more today than he'd given Clint. How did the kid keep doing that?

* * *

_End of Year Two_

_I'm a Texan so my comment about Texan's driving is allowed :D_

_Year three will be headed your way in the next few days!_


End file.
